


Grand Show

by Alaylith



Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: (apparent) character death, 221B Ficlet, Abduction, Drug Addiction, Emotional Hurt, Fear, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hiatus, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Nightmares, Post-Hiatus, Pre-hiatus, Retirement, Supernatural Elements, early 1880s, warning: (apparent) character death, warning: (attempted) suicide, warning: (pending) character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-01
Updated: 2016-01-04
Packaged: 2018-05-11 10:32:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 10,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5623936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alaylith/pseuds/Alaylith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Several drabbles written for Watson's Woes July Prompts 2015; title taken from the last drabble.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Worst

**Author's Note:**

> Watson's Woes July Writing Prompts 2015 - Prompt #01: Tempting Fate. "What's the worst that could happen?" Use this however it inspires you.

Carl is not one of the brightest thieves in London.  
Actually he is quite dumb - he can not write or even read and his vocabulary is limited to mostly insults and threats.  
  
He knows nothing about society, politics or generally about anything that goes on in the city.  
  
He only knows that a well-dressed man is an easy target to get something from and so when he sees this one man, a doctor even he is able to recognize, walking though the darkened streets all alone, there is no hesitation in his mind.  
The man puts up a fight, but Carl is stronger and more ruthless and so gives the doctor a sound trashing for his resistance, bevor he leaves with the man's possessions.  
  
After all, what's the worst that could happen if he beats up a simple man?  
  
Three days later he meets the doctor's companion whose eyes are burning with a cold fury he has never seen on a human's face before.  
**That's** The Worst that can happen to you, Carl is intelligent enough to realise when an inspector from Scotland Yard is barely able to keep the furious man away from his throat.  
  
Carl actually learns something from this as he is brought to the Yard - never dare to touch Sherlock Holmes' doctor or damned you be.


	2. Yellow Ribbons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The killer always leaves a yellow ribbon tied to something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Watson's Woes July Writing Prompts 2015 - Prompt: #2 Yellow. Use the color as your inspiration for today's entry: anything from the sun, to John wearing a mustard yellow jumper, to yellow ribbons tied in a tree.

The ribbon flutters slightly in the wind, the long yellow straps dance around the small bow within their middle.  
  
Watson watches it sadly, his back turned to the men milling around the latest victim of the Yellow-Ribbon-Killer.  
  
Their culprit (a man, aged between 50 to 60, strong-built, ex-military, favours his right leg and left hand, smokes pipe) chooses his victims apparantly at random and murders them quickly, but brutally.  
And near their bodies he always leaves a yellow ribbon tied to something, always formed into a perfect little bow.  
  
So far he has killed two women and three men.  
Now he has also killed a little girl no older than 7 years.  
  
As soon as Watson saw her little hand between the leaves he turned away, not able to look upon her body - he has seen the other bodies, he knows how her body will look like.  
Holmes threw him a short, sympathic look and patted his elbow lightly, but then his face turned blank and he went to check the scene, Lestrade following him with a grim expression on his own face.  
  
It does not take long and Holmes steps to Watson's side, both looking to the ribbon in the tree.  
"You will find this bastard," Watson states calmly and without a doubt in his voice. Holmes does not answer, but out of the corner of his eye Watson can see the cold fire burning in his friend's eyes and he knows the answer.  
  
"Come now, Watson," Holmes calls him and both turn away, just as a police officer takes a scissor and cuts the ribbon down.  
  
+++  
  
The next few days are hard, but Holmes knows that he is catching up. He has to, as the killer murders every Thursday and on Wednesday he finally has all the clues he needs.  
A few hours spent in the library going through old newspapers and then questioning the right people and Holmes has a name.  
  
He takes a cab and shouts to the driver to hurry to Baker Street; Watson had a patient to visit and besides, he would not have been able to keep up in this wet autumn weather and his bad leg.  
It is already late, the streets almost empty and dark, but Holmes can see the light in their rooms as soon as the cab turns into their street.  
  
He grins lightly, knowing that Watson stayed awake to wait for him and adrenaline pumps through his veins and preparing him for their hunt.  
Holmes tells the driver to wait and storms into the house, taking the steps three at a time.  
  
The game is on and he-  
  
Everything stops and Holmes stands in the middle of the hallway to their shared rooms, staring straight ahead. For a long moment, feeling like eternity, he does not move, he does not think, he does not breathe, he does not **_live_**.  
The only sound is the clock, chiming midnight.  
  
Because right there, on the closed door to their living room, hangs a yellow ribbon, formed into a perfect little bow.


	3. There's none so blind as those who will not see

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Holmes sees a lot, but not always is he willing to believe it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Watson's Woes July Writing Prompts 2015 - Prompt: #3 Picture Prompt of a brown leaf with a skull  
> (visible here http://ic.pics.livejournal.com/alaylith/19120656/5438/5438_300.jpg)

Sherlock Holmes is able to see things other people do not see (or see, but do not observe).  
He can see a man's health in his footsteps and he can see a woman's romantic interests in her clothes.  
  
As such he is - even more than the average man - able to see so called signs or symbols; the difference is just that Holmes knows better and does not believe in any higher powers or magical hexes or whatever.  
Shadows might look like monsters to any imaginative mind or clouds resembles animals or raindrops form patterns, forms or letters.  
  
Holmes sees such things just like any other, his mind sometimes even more creative, but the important thing is that he pays them no attention.  
  
That is until an early, cold Winter morning when he finishes his tea and sees something in the tea leaves left in his cup.  
It is a grinning skull, clearly visible and Holmes can not help but stare at it.  
  
Holmes is not superstitious, he does not believe in such things, but the skull somehow holds his attention, grinning brightly as if it is saying ' **I** can **_see you_** '.  
  
The image haunts him the whole day, never leaving his thoughts and he insists on Watson taking his gun with him when they leave to apprehend their criminal in the evening.  
  
Hours later, when the sun starts to rise, Holmes stands in the street and looks up to the clouds. Watson stands at his side, his head bandaged and he leans heavily on his walking stick.  
If Watson did not have his gun with him, he would be dead now and Holmes knows that the only reason he took the gun was that Holmes asked for it.  
And he did it because a skull in his tea cup told him so.  
  
"Holmes?" Watson asks quietly and watches his captivated friend quizzically. "What are you looking at?"  
"The clouds," Holmes answers absent-minded and Watson smiles lightly.  
  
"What do you see?" he asks, his voice tinged with humour and Holmes slowly closes his eyes.  
"Everything."


	4. Belong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John Watson has been to so many different places.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Watson's Woes July Writing Prompts 2015 - Prompt: #4 The Well-Travelled Watson. "Travel and foreign lands." Use this however it inspires you.

John Watson has been to so many different places, in different countries, even on different contintents.  
He has seen foreign cultures, met foreign people and even spoken foreign languages.  
  
But in the end there has always been something similiar, something connecting everything with each other and he was never able to understand what this was exactly.  
  
That is until he met Sherlock Holmes and moved into Baker Street.  
  
The connection between all places and all people all over the world was simply the fact that Watson did not belong.  
  
And now he has found his place. He is finally **home**.


	5. Only Reminder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In his whole life Holmes ever had only one reminder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Watson's Woes July Writing Prompts 2015 - Prompt: #5 Note to Self. Anything from a pencil jot on a paper cuff or a string on a finger to a modern sticky note or a cell phone alarm. Doesn't matter who the writer is, so long as there's something he/she needs a reminder for.

Holmes has a selective memory.  
Things, he deems important (like everything to do with his work), he will never forget.  
Other things, that are not important in his opinion (like watering the flowers the first time Mrs. Hudson was on vacation), he immediatly removes from his head attic.  
  
He never needs a reminder for the important things, like a knot in a handkerchief he has seen Watson do many times.  
Holmes does not understand the reason behind this action, but Watson explained once, that whenever he looks at the knot he always remembers what it stands for.  
  
That happened quite early in their aquaintance and Holmes just scoffed, turning away. He ignored the information - not forgetting it, even though it will take some years for him to understand as to why he did not forget it.  
  
Now as he sits in a temple in Tibet, watching the snow, he carefully fingers a knotted handkerchief. It is one of Watson's; Holmes took it by mistake the morning they left the inn to visit the Reichenbach Falls.  
It is the only thing that remains from his old life and three years ago he made the knot to always remind him of the most important thing he had to leave behind.  
  
When he returns to it ( _ **to Watson**_ ) he will give the handkerchief back.


	6. They are the Tiger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They are the Tiger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Watson's Woes July Writing Prompts 2015 - Prompt: #6 Quotation Prompt. "Imitate the actions of a tiger." --Shakespeare, Henry V  
> A/N: Be warned, this is a bad poem-whatever-look-a-like; the hot weather must have melted my brain in the last few days... The idea sounded better in my head; I should have just left it there. :/

Holmes is a panther.  
Black and deadly, silent and clever.  
  
Watson is a lion.  
Gold and fierce, strong and loyal.  
  
Black and Gold,  
entangled and combined,  
like day and night.  
  
Together they are one,  
the King of the Jungle  
and their jungle is London.  
  
They are the Hunter.  
They are the Protector.  
They are the King.  
  
They are the Tiger.


	7. Under control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Holmes thought he had it under control.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Watson's Woes July Writing Prompts 2015 - Prompt: #7 Unwanted Attention. Whether it's a client gone stalkerish or a secret admirer who won't take a hint, one of the characters must cope with unwanted advances. How he/she deals with it and what happens is up to you.

It was chance, that Holmes saw the letter before Watson did.  
  
It was right on top of Watson's pile, directly besides his own pile. At that time Mrs. Hudson seperated their letters, gaining her a heartful thank you of Watson.  
Because Holmes tended to hog all letters, keeping his own and throwing Watson's away - sometimes into the fire.  
  
So there were two piles and normally Holmes ignored Watson's, but on that day he looked over and he saw that letter on top.  
Since then he always checked Watson's mail before Watson was able to.  
  
With just a glance Holmes recognized the woman's madness, her greed and her craving. It was in the way she wrote, the turn of the letters, the pressure of the pen.  
Holmes already knew what the letter was about even before opening it, but the words themselves just proved his deduction.  
  
The woman was desperately after the doctor's attention, her desire tangable in her words.  
Her first expressions of gratitude of his care and wonderment about his abilities soon turned into demands for his attention and ugly proclamations of jealously against other people in Watson's company.  
There were questions and requests, then demands and orders and in the threats and insults.  
  
The letters came for a long time and Holmes was always careful to get them all before Watson was ever able to see one of them.  
  
He thought he had it all under control, until one day the woman suddenly stood in their shared flat, drawing a gun and threatening to kill Holmes, because he stodd in her way of happiness with 'her' doctor.  
At that moment Holmes still thought he had it under control, but then the door opened and Watson entered the room.  
  
Then Holmes realized that some things - chance, fate, _love_ \- could never be under control.


	8. Live in Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I look at him and see a prisoner living in freedom and hope is the key to the chains on his soul.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Watson's Woes July Writing Prompts 2015 - Prompt: #8 The Ballad of Reading Gaol  
> "I never saw a man who looked  
> With such a wistful eye  
> Upon that little tent of blue  
> Which prisoners call the sky,  
> And at every drifting cloud that went  
> With sails of silver by."  
> \--Oscar Wilde

I have never seen a man like him.  
  
I am still a young man, but I have met many men in these few years - especially those haunted by their decisions.  
But no one has ever been like him.  
  
The foreigner has given a false name, but names are nothing - my own name was given to me years after my birth; my first name lost in the whispers of memories.  
He had choosen his own shadow to hide and I do not need to know his true identity to see his plight.  
That british (not norwegian as he had claimed) man runs from his past, he runs from his faults - he runs from his own life.  
  
But when he looks up to the sky he has the eyes of a prisoner; as if his escape does not bring him freedom but captivity.  
  
Only once did the foreigner mention that he left something (but his eyes told me that in reality it was **someone** ) behind, something so very important.  
When I asked him about it, about why he left it, he just gave me a small, sad smile and said that he had no other choice.  
  
I could see the pain, the suffering, the _longing_ in his eyes; whatever reasons he had they must have been grievous.  
  
Nevertheless the rightness of his choice never calms the storm raging in his heart or numbs the pain in his soul, so whenever he looks up to our sky, he sees another one.  
Another sky far away and his wishes sail like clouds from ours over to **his** sky, trying to reach what has been left behind.  
  
I see him now, standing in the garden of our temple and I lower my head in silent prayer as I always do when looking at him.  
For one thing he has gained from leaving something behind.  
  
Sigerson has found hope and I pray he will never lose it, because then he himself will be lost forever.


	9. Lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some people you can't save.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Watson's Woes July Writing Prompts 2015 - Prompt: #9 Healer's Choice. One person Watson chose not to save.

I recognize the look in his eyes; this lost expression and the dark shadows.  
I have seen this look many times - in so many different faces. One of them my own.  
  
I know what he feels, _how_ he feels and I take a step back, lower my hands.  
There is nothing I can do.  
  
A single shot echoes through the silence.  
  
+  
  
Holmes and Lestrade run into the room just seconds after the shot, but I just shake my head and leave the house, leaving the dead man behind.  
  
Outside I take a deep breath, looking up to the grey clouds and I can feel when Holmes steps to my side.  
"You could not save him, Watson?" he asks silently and I only sigh.  
  
"No, there was nothing I could do."  
Because not everyone can be saved no matter what choice you make.


	10. Remarkable Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lestrade gets one of the first glimpses...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Watson's Woes July Writing Prompts 2015 - Prompt: #10 What’s All This Then? Use the POV of one or more of the police for today's entry.

Inspector Lestrade mentally prepares himself for his meeting with Mr. Holmes as he walks up the steps to Mr. Holmes' new flat.  
It is always an arduous thing to talk with that man, but Lestrade hopes that the doctor will be in the rooms.  
  
So far he had not many interactions with Holmes' newest companion, but he seems like a decent gentleman and Holmes might (if at all possible) be less vocal in his negative opinions about Scotland Yard if the doctor is present.  
Lestrade sends a silent prayer and then knocks on the door to the living room, before opening it.  
  
Holmes is already awaiting him (not surprising, quite possibly already heard him on the street), but what surprises Lestrade is how Holmes stands - almost protectively - in front of the door, not letting Lestrade enter the room fully.  
He settles one of his long, pale fingers on his lips in the generally gesture of silence. No matter how stupid Mr. Holmes believes Lestrade to be, he is **not** and he understands the gesture.  
  
So instead of asking why Holmes requests his silence, Lestrade takes a look over the consulting detective's shoulder.  
In one of the chairs right behind Mr. Holmes rests the doctor, an afghan wrapped around his legs and deeply asleep.  
  
Lestrade blinks, blinks again and then takes another look checking the rest of the room, but in the end the doctor is the only visible reason as to why they should be silent.  
Which is surprising, as Lestrade never thought Holmes could be considerate of anyone else.  
  
Lestrade looks back at Holmes, who watches him with a brow questioningly raised and Lestrade clears his throat lightly, realizing that he had been starring for several moments.  
  
Holmes leads the Inspector back down the steps and manages quite nicely their entrance into the landlady's domain, before he asks about Lestrade's case.  
And while Lestrade talks about his recent case, he wonders in the back of his mind, that the doctor really must be a remarkable man, to turn Sherlock Holmes into a human being.  
  
Quite a remarkable man indeed.


	11. That burns me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Holmes is called to the Yard and something's wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Watson's Woes July Writing Prompts 2015 - Prompt: #11 Coat Porn. Whether it's BBC Sherlock's amazing Belstaff, Joan Watson's slickers, or classic Victorian overcoats, let outerwear be your inspiration for today's entry.

The moment Holmes steps into Scotland Yard, summoned by Lestrade's message, he knows that something is horrible wrong.  
  
Every single member of the police freezes at his entrance and look at him with varying expressions and none of them good.  
  
Holmes schools his features, looking like the cold calculating machine everyone thinks him to be and walks through the silent room, ignoring everyone.  
Lestrade already waits at his open office door, his own expression blank but for the horror within his eyes and they enter the office silently, before Lestrade closes the door and starts speaking.  
  
Holmes is numb, his vision grows thin and grey and there is a loud pounding within his ears as he listens to Lestrade's halting speech, but everything grinds to a halt when Lestrade picks up an item and puts it into Holmes' hands.  
  
For while he is able to deny Lestrade's words, he can never deny his own senses and he tightly grips Watson's overcoat, lowering his head over it and inhales deeply.  
But all he is able to smell is blood and ashes.


	12. Come back to haunt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They bring back more from Dartmoor than just memories...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Watson's Woes July Writing Prompts 2015 - Prompt: #12 Doyle vs. Dogs: Toby notwithstanding, dogs got a raw deal in Sherlock Holmes Canon – shot, poisoned, thrown out windows, stung by jellyfish. Feature a dog in your entry in some way (preferably without dying) from any incarnation of Sherlock Holmes – Redbeard, Gladstone, the Dog that Did Nothing, or even an honorary “dog” like Clyde the tortoise. Needless to say, Sherlock Hound stories count.

_Watsun runs, over hills and boulders, he runs as fast as he can._  
 _But the howling of the hound stays with him, hunting him through the swamps._  
  
_Watson tries to speed up, but he falters and falls to the ground._  
  
_As he looks up he looks directly into the glowing eyes of the demonic creature, it's breath caressing his face._  
 _Watson looks into the eyes, knowing that he looks upon Death itself, when suddenly the eyes change to a grey he knows so very well._  
  
_And in the next moment Death's face no longer looks like a hound but like Holmes._  
  
"Watson?"  
  
Watson opens his eyes and jumps a little surprised, but Holmes lays a calming hand on his shoulder. "No worries, my friend, but we have reached London."  
Watson looks around, recognizing their compartment in the train and wipes a weary hand over his face.  
  
"I apologize, old fellow, for falling asleep on you," Watson says and Holmes shakes his head, raising to gather their bags. "It is alright, there was not much sleep to get on this case.  
But soon we are back home, leaving those old and dark moors behind us forever."  
  
Watson nods slowly and gets up to follow Holmes, but the moment Holmes turns away from him Watson could swear he saw his eyes glow black.


	13. And he is alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A child once wrote a poem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Watson's Woes July Writing Prompts 2015 - Prompt: #13 A Tale Foretold. Watson comes across the first thing he ever wrote as a youth. It turns out to be prophetic.

_You will heal those who need your help_  
  
John Watson feels joy when he accepts his certificate, just barrely covering his sadness that his parents are not alive to see him becoming a doctor.  
  
 _You will serve those who will need your service_  
  
John Watson feels pride when he sees himself in a mirror the first time wearing his uniform.  
  
 _You will fight those who threaten your home_  
  
John Watson feels exhilarated as he fights back-tp-back with his closest friend in one dark alley of London.  
  
 _You will protect those you care about_  
  
John Watson feels stubborn as he holds the cough medicine and trying to give it to the bedridden and pouting consulting detective.  
  
 _You will marry the one you love_  
  
John Watson feels delighted as he takes his wife's arm to lead her into their new home.  
  
 _You will be happy with your life_  
  
John Watson feels happy as he listens to his friend ranting about his latest case and his wife's joyful laughter.  
  
 _I will be alone_  
  
Tears are running down John Watson's cheeks, as he sits on his bed with the old and wrinkled paper in his hands. As a child he once wrote his ambitions for the future, trying to write them as a poem as he was already so romantically inclined even then.  
They were happy and good wishes. He remembers when he finished the list it was his intention to show it to his parents, but something prompted him to add the last line, some dark and morbid foreboding.  
  
As a child he just thought it as a dramatic amendment, a romantic streak and a first sign of him being a writer. Nevertheless he never showed the paper to anyone, but hid it away and forgot all about it.  
Until now, when he had to clear out another person's belongings yet again.  
  
He realizes that everything became true, even the last line, as he lost everyone he ever loved.  
  
John Watson feels sad as he wears the black suit he just recently wore to his wife's burial, the same he wore not too long ago to his best friend's burial, too.  
  
And he is alone.


	14. Naked Mole Rat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The adventure of the naked mole rat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Watson's Woes July Writing Prompts 2015 - Prompt: #14 Not So Cute. It's easy to be shmoopy when there are adorable baby animals involved. Try to create something shmoopy with a less-than-adorable and/or not-quite-a-baby animal.

_"Is he not cute?" Watson asks and tenderly caresses the naked back of the little creature in his lap._  
 _"Are you not cute?" he continues, now directed at the creatue and cuddles it gently._  
  
_"It is a rat," Holmes says._  
 _"No, it is a mole," Watson counters and rubs his cheek against the animal's nose._  
  
_"It is a mole," Watson repeats and looks deeply into Holmes' eyes. "It is a mole, Holmes."_  
  
"Holmes. Holmes. Holmes!"  
Holmes wakes up and looks around startled. It only takes a moment for him to realize that he fell asleep on the couch in their living room.  
  
"Are you alright?" Watsons asks worriedly and Holmes is relieved to see that his hands are empty.  
"Yes yes, old chap, I am alright. It was just-"  
  
the voice from his dreams repeats and Holmes jumps up with a shout. "Of course! A mole! The rat is a mole!"  
  
Holmes hurries through the flat, picking up his things while Watson watches amusedly.  
"Watson, you are a genius!" Holmes shouts, before slamming the door shut behind himself and shortly after runs down the street hunting a cab.  
  
Watson watches him through the window, then just shakes his head and sits down at his table. "Whatever you say, Holmes."


	15. Father's child

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A remarkable father will have a remarkable child - it is simply logical.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Watson's Woes July Writing Prompts 2015 - Prompt: #15 That Old Saying. The old Egyptian saying "ابن الوزّ عوّام. "(ibn il-wazz 3awwam.) ("The son of a goose is a swimmer.") is roughly the same sentiment as the English "Like father, like son." Whether it's one of these statements or another adage, include some classic saying in today's entry. Bonus points if you also manage to include a goose!

"The son of a goose is a swimmer."  
  
Watson jumps lightly and looks up to see Holmes taking the seat beside him on the bench. He has been staring at the lake for hours now, not really seeing much, but now as he concentrates he can hear the geese among the other birds.  
  
"What do you mean, Holmes?" Watson asks his friend and Holmes leans back, relaxing in the little bit of spring sunshine. "It is an egyptian adage. It means pretty much the same as ours 'Like father, like son'."  
A sad little twinge tugs at Watson's heart, but he suppresses it and leans back besides his friend, looking to the geese swimming around.  
  
"I do not think I want to imagine what kind of man your father was for having two sons like you and your brother," Watson wonders and Holmes throws him a quick grin.  
Watson chuckles ruefully and silence embraces them once more.  
  
"Your father must have been a very remarkable man," Holmes muses and Watson smiles nostalgic. "Indeed he was."  
  
"And your child would have been remarkable as well."  
  
Watson gasps lightly and stares at Holmes surprised. Holmes turns his head lightly to look at him, understanding and sympathy turning his eyes a light grey.  
Watson swallows painfully, realizing that Holmes knows the truth, as he knows Watson like no other.  
  
He turns back to the lake, remembering that awful day years ago when he lost his dear love and their newborn baby. It was a horrible day and something Watson will never forget.  
Back then he was alone, but now he can feel his best friend at his side and while the memories still hurt, they are not as bad as they have been the whole day until now.  
  
Silently they both continue to watch the geese, both to their own memories, but neither feeling as lonely and lost as before.


	16. Blazing Fury

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A dream of smoke and fire becomes reality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Watson's Woes July Writing Prompts 2015 - Prompt: #16 Picture Prompt: Ablaze  
> (visible here http://ic.pics.livejournal.com/alaylith/19120656/5679/5679_300.jpg)

Watson dreams of heat and the smell of fire.  
The memories of war are so strong that he can even taste it.  
  
Until he realizes that it's not burning gunpowder he smells, but burning petrol.  
  
Watson startles awake, looking directly into his wife's sleeping face. The smell lingers and there is a distinct taste of smoke in the air.  
He knows immediatly that something's wrong.  
  
"Mary! Wake up!" he gently but urgently shakes his wife awake, who blinks surprised at him and he gets out of their bed. "Get dressed, Mary, hurry. There is a fire somewhere."  
Through his army life and life with Sherlock Holmes Watson is able to dress in seconds and while Mary hurries to follow, Watson carefully opens the door and then hurries downstairs.  
  
There is smoke in the air, but thankfully it is not much and Watson is able to follow the smell down to his study. The door's open, even though Watson is sure that he closed it and the flickering golden light of fire shines into the hallway.  
Watson throws a quick look into the room, sees his desk and the surroundings lost in a blazing storm and he can smell the petrol which has been poured in the room.  
  
He closes the door and then goes back to retrieve Mary, then also to get their servants and leads them to safety outside on the streets.  
  
It is hours later, after the fire has been put out and Scotland Yard investigated the fire raising, while Watson carefully tidies up the room, that Holmes appears in the door and watches him silently.  
Watson takes a single look at Holmes' expression and the tight band of worry and anxiety loosens around his chest.  
  
Whoever is responsible for this attack, they will rue this very soon.  
Because the blazing storm, that tried to take his home, is nothing compared to the blazing fury in Holmes' eyes.


	17. And you weep alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Watson knows that he is dying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Watson's Woes July Writing Prompts 2015 - Prompt: #17 But Aside From That, Dr. Watson, How Did You Like the Trip to Switzerland?: Watson has been accused of having a “pawky sense of humour” by his flatmate. Incorporate humour into your entry in some way – even grim or black humour (characteristic of both medical people and police).

He is dying, Watson knows. He can feel the blood running down his side, staining the ground below.  
It will not take long and he is too numb to feel much pain. It is going to be a merciful death.  
  
"WATSON!"  
  
A scream of pain and horror, a scream of a man condemned to death - is Holmes injured as well?  
  
Only moments later Holmes falls to his knees at Watson's side, pressing his hands to the bleeding wounds in his friend's chest.  
His eyes, grey like the coming of a storm, are dark with an emotion Watson has never before seen.  
  
Only the truest and deepest love can bring forth such endless and breaking **agony**.  
  
"It was...," Watson mumbles and takes a shuddering breath. "... worth a wound..."  
"Now is not the time to quote your romantic drivel, Watson," gasps Holmes shakingly, the corner of his lips tugged into a little smile.  
  
"What else... should I... quote then?" Watson asks, his voice lightly tinged with pawky humour.  
"How about one of my pieces of wisdoms?" Holmes asks around a deep swallow, his voice shaking with suppressed tears.  
  
"Like.. when you said... open doors ought to be... forbidden because... you ran into one?"  
  
Holmes laughs hoarsely, then takes one blood stained hand away from the wound to cup Watson's cheek.  
"How about the most important one?"  
  
A single tear runs over Sherlock Holmes' pale cheek.  
  
"I am lost without my Boswell."  
  
And as the darkness takes John Watson away, he realizes that there is nothing merciful about his death, as it is going to destroy his closest friend as it did him years ago.  
But this time there is not going to be an amazing resurrection.  
  
Fate has a cruel and twisted sense of humour.


	18. Game Over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon says... Let's play a game

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Watson's Woes July Writing Prompts 2015 - Prompt: #18 The Games We Play. Involve a game of some sort in your story, whether it's a round of whist, an intense night of Cluedo, or a Pac-Man tournament.

_Simon says... Let's play a game_  
  
It has been weeks since that first message appeared within our rooms; weeks full of such messages and crimes.  
  
There were attacks, thefts, even murders were Simon left such messages, giving different clues or orders for me to follow.  
But the worst are the kidnappings of children - Simon has taken 9 children so far from all over London.  
The son of a baker or the daughter of a lord; the social standing does not matter - even one of my Irregulars has been taken.  
  
While I am horrified by these cruel acts, I must admit there is also a certain sense of adventure. I can feel the thrill of the hunt.  
Watson knows it, recognizes the signs and I can see that he is disappointed in me. But my loyal Boswell does not say a word, he just follows me as he always does.  
  
It is with giddy excitement that I open the latest message Mrs. Hudson just brought up and only minutes later Watson and I are racing through London.  
The game will end soon, Simon and I both know it and I want to enjoy the last moments as much as I can.  
  
All this stops when we reach the empty warehouse and right in the middle of the room is a small table. A gun lays on top of it, weighing down another paper.  
  
"Holmes...," Watson murmurs, suprise and worry in his voice. "Is that not my weapon?"  
  
And truely, as I step forward and take the gun into my hands, I easily recognize my friend's weapon as he already did from several meters away.  
The last I knew that gun was in Watson's bedroom, as one of Simon's earlier orders were to leave the gun behind whenever Watson came along.  
  
It is with dread that I take the message and open the paper and every excitement, every thrill, every joy leaves me.  
  
 _Simon says... Kill the doctor or all the children will die_  
  
I stare at the message, at those cruel words and my mind runs through all scenarios, all choices, all possibilities, but it always comes back to this one thought: **Watson dies**.  
Watson once described me as a machine, a brain without heart and I always considered that as truth. Until now, for while my brain knows the choice I should make - my heart screams for the choice I **want**.  
  
"Holmes? What does it say?" I can hear Watson ask from behind me, his voice full of worry and trust and **love**.  
  
I crumble the paper within my fist, hide it in my pocket and turn to look at Watson.  
I made my choice and hold out his weapon for him to take.  
  
"Game Over."


	19. A Secret's Worth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A secret's worth depends on the people from whom it must be kept. – Carlos Ruiz Zafón, The Shadow of the Wind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Watson's Woes July Writing Prompts 2015 - Prompt: #19 While You Were Sleeping. Watson is presumed unconscious/asleep/comatose, but he can hear everything everyone says at his bedside.

"You should tell him."  
  
As Watson fights against the darkness, these words are the first things he aknowlegdes, even though he can not recognize the voice.  
  
"Never," another voice swears and Watson will always know the voice of his closest friend. It is this voice that brings Watson back from the darkness and he tiredly blinks at the ceiling above.  
A ceiling which does not belong to his own room.  
  
He looks around the darkened room and he can see enough to recognize Holmes' room he is lying in. Next he sees the door to the living room being slightly open and the flickering light of a fire.  
His whole body is numb and he can only move his head a bit, thus making no noise. He knows from experience if he lifted as much as a finger Holmes would have been able to hear it and would have come to the room.  
  
Watson is just about to try and call for his friend, when the other voice continues. "The doctor would want to know."  
He stops, not only because he now recognizes Mycroft's voice, but also because of the words. What are they talking about?  
  
"Sooner or later he will find out and it would be better if he knew the truth beforehand," Mycroft says with a hint of compassion in his voice. "And more importantly, he should hear it from you."  
"No, I will not tell him," Holmes denies the advice. "And he will never find out. Only Lestrade knows the truth and he already swore to never reveal it.  
Between him and I we were able to falsify all reports. It will never be spoken of again."  
  
"Sherlock...," Mycroft admonishes and Watson can hear how Holmes raises from his chair and comes to the door.  
"No, Mycroft," Holmes hisses, his voice lowered now as he stands almost within the door. "I won't tell him, that the shadow he shot was not our culprit, but that he accidentally killed an innocent child."  
  
And Holmes turns to the room to check on his friend, only to stare into Watson's horrified eyes.


	20. Lucky Shot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Killer Evans is glad that he missed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Watson's Woes July Writing Prompts 2015 - Prompt: JWP #20 Yankee Doodle Came to London: Doyle seemed to have a fascination for people and things American (three of his four novel-length Sherlock Holmes tales feature someone from North America), and societies as diverse as Pennsylvanian coal-town gangs, the Latter-Day Saints and the KKK appear in Canon. Remember that Watson was whumped by a Chicago gangster in 3GAR. Put something or someone American in your entry (or just have Joan Watson show up), or do an American-based pastiche (or just put Joan Watson in the story, did I mention her?).

For a moment I saw stars, but they quickly left again and I felt how Holmes searched me for more weapons, before I could hear him leaving.  
  
"You're not hurt, Watson? For God's sake, say that you are not hurt!"  
  
I was barely able to move my aching head and saw how the sleuth led his doctor friend to a chair, checking the wound.  
First I felt disappointed for missing - I would have liked to take at least one of them down, but when Holmes turned back to me I was glad that the doctor survived.  
  
Until the end of my time I would never forget that expression; that burning fire in the cold eyes would haunt me to my Death.  
  
"By the Lord, it is as well for you. If you had killed Watson, you would not have got out of this room alive."  
  
And while I did not fear Death itself, in that moment I feared just how Sherlock Holmes would sent me to it.  
After all Death knew an end - his fury did not.


	21. Stubborness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For once, Holmes is actually a bit irritated with Watson's stubborness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Watson's Woes July Writing Prompts 2015 - Prompt: JWP #21 Heat Rash. It's a muggy, hot summer and someone's reacting badly. Metaphorical bonus points for including salve/lotion/ointment and needing help applying it.

Holmes leans against the doorframe, his arms folded in front of his chest and he silently observes how Watson turns in his bed, restless and uneasy.  
  
It is a hot and muggy summer without any kind of relief of the weather; even the nights are uncomfortable.  
Normally Watson, used to such weather from Afghanistan, can withstand it much better than Holmes.  
  
Only this time Watson also caught a virus, resulting him plagged with a high fever for several days.  
Watson, in his usual stoic manner, suffered silently and with dignity and everything should have been fine if not for one small hitch.  
  
His worst scar, the one on his shoulder where he was shot so many years ago, reacted most aggressively to the heat caused by the weather and the fever.  
The result is a terrible heat rash, painful and uncomfortable, but treatable - if only you were able to reach the place to use the soothing salve.  
  
Or if you were not so stubborn and would just accept help.  
Holmes finally just shakes his head and strides forward. "Now it's enough, Watson."  
  
Watson jumps lightly and looks over his shoulder as he lies on his stomach and looks surprised at Holmes. "Holmes! When did you get up here?"  
"Long enough ago to grow tired of your stubborness," Holmes answers with a hint of irritation and Watson turns away, a frown twisting his mustache.  
  
"I don't know what you are talking about," Watson says and Holmes only rolls his eyes. Without hesitation he opens the drawer at Watson's bedside table and withdraws the bottle of salve.  
He shakes it lightly in Watson's field of view and it only takes moments for Watson's cheeks to blush.  
  
"As I said, my dear friend, it's enough," Holmes says finally and sits down on the bed. "Now - either you comply willingly or I will have to force you."  
Watson smothers a chuckle in his pillow and then turns his head back to Holmes. "Just what would people assume if they ever listened to some of our conversations?"  
  
Holmes shrugs easily, opens the bottle and places it on the table. "The wrong things, as they usually do. Now really, Watson - do not try to distract me!  
Off with the shirt, my dear."  
  
He even wriggles his fingers pointedly and Watson chuckles again, before raising slightly to be able to lower his shirt.  
Holmes hisses sympthatically as he sees the angry, red rash on the scar and shakes his head, marvelling again over Watson's stubborness.  
  
He carefully scoops up some of the salve and massages it gently all over the skin, careful not to cause any undue pain.  
With his other hand Holmes starts to caress the other shoulder, trying to soothe the knotted muscles and after a few minutes he can feel how Watson relaxes beneath his hands.  
  
"Next time, just accept my help when I first offer it, old boy," Holmes requests warmly and Watson hums approvingly, already on the brink of falling asleep.  
  
"Excuse me, I - ark!"  
  
Both startle and turn to look at the door, where Inspector Lestrade stands awkwardly, his blushing face averted and his hands fumbling with his hat.  
"Ehm, I apologize - Mrs. Hudson said you were up here, because the doctor still felt ill and told me to just come up. There is my case, well not my case, a case I am working on and I just wanted to ask for your impression on it and I-.  
I am just going to wait downstairs!" he rambles and then hurries down the stairs, slamming the door to their living room close.  
  
Holmes and Watson stare for a moment longer, then look at each other and break out into hearty, warm laughter.


	22. Knock, Knock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Watson sees the paper a moment too late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Watson's Woes July Writing Prompts 2015 - Prompt: JWP #22 While You were Out. Watson returns home after a long day to find a note pinned to his door. What is the note? Who left it? It's all up to you.

It is already night when Watson returns home from his patient. There is no light on, but he did not think there would be one.  
Mrs. Hudson is already asleep at this time and Holmes had left this morning for a case, telling Watson that he quite likely would not be back for the night.  
  
Watson silently opens the door to the house and sneaks up the stairs to not wake up their landlady.  
Even though he is pretty tired, he is still too wired to sleep and so he steps up to the closed door of their living room.  
  
A drink and a good book should help him to get ready to sleep.  
  
Just as Watson opens the door to enter the room a bit of moonlight shines into the hallway, chasing away the darkness and something white flashes in the corner of Watson's eye.  
He turns his head, sees the paper pinned to the door and is able to read the two words written on it. _< Knock, Knock  >_  
  
Just as he realizes that he does not recognize the handwritting, he is suddenly hit over the head and falls heavily to the ground.  
Watson groans painfully, numbness already spreading through his limbs and he is barely able to see the shape of a man standing over him.  
  
"As you can see from my message, Doctor," the man says in a deep, dark voice. "I **did** knock."


	23. Last Gift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Watson's time is running out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Watson's Woes July Writing Prompts 2015 - Prompt: JWP #23 Improvised Tools. For a truly desperate person anything can be utilized as a tool or as a weapon.

The wound won't stop bleeding.  
No matter how much pressure Watson applies, the blood continues to dribble down his side and stains the ground.  
  
He leans his head back against the cold wall of his prison and groans slightly in pain. It has been days since his kidnapping (according to the minimal light that filters through the darkened window) and Holmes is still not here.  
Wherever these guys took him, it must be a good hiding place. Or maybe they have a distraction, keeping Holmes from finding him.  
  
Or Holmes is not even looking for him.  
  
Watson shakes his head, scolding himself for such thoughts. As long as Holmes knows that Watson is alive, he would not never stop looking for him.  
And as only his dead body could convince Holmes of his death, Watson is pretty sure that Holmes is still searching.  
  
The only problem is, that his time's running out.  
The wound just won't stop bleeding.  
  
But thinking about Holmes had reminded Watson of something. Back at the Reichenbach Falls, even though it was so very painful to read Holmes' letter, it also gave Watson something to hold on to over the years.  
The letter was ( **is** ) so important and became one of his most treasured possessions.  
  
He rifles through his pockets and while he still carries his notebook, his pen has been lost or taken.  
Looking around, Watson sees a small metal rod on the ground.  
  
He takes a piece of the dry bread his hosts had given him the day before and puts it on one end of the rod.  
Now all he needs is ink or something similiar.  
  
He takes another look around, but can find nothing and the dripping of his blood constantly distracts him from his search.  
His blood...  
  
He turns his head to the small puddle on the ground and he is mesmerized how the fresh and wet blood shimmers in the little bit of light.  
Watson dips his improvised pen into the blood and places the tip on paper, his hand slightly shaking and starts writing.  
  
 _< My dear Holmes...  >_


	24. Crossfire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A (drunken & stupid) criminal hurts Watson (a bit, but he has taken worst) to get Mrs. Hudson to reveal something (which she does not even know) and they have to wait for Holmes (who is late).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Watson's Woes July Writing Prompts 2015 - Prompt: JWP #24 A Long-Suffering Woman: Involve Mrs. Hudson in Watson’s whump in some fashion.

The force of the hit wips Watson's head to the side and he can taste fresh blood in his mouth. While the ringing in his ears subsides he can distantly hear Mrs. Hudson's distressed voice.  
  
"I do not know! Truthfully, I do not know!" she sobs, her face hidden in her hands. Watson looks back up to the Markson, who watches the woman disdainfully.  
"Do not lie to me! You saw him! I know that you saw him!" he shouts drunkelny, towering over their shuddering landlady. "Tell me where he is!"  
  
Watson wonders just how drunk Markson is or if he really is so stupid to believe that Mrs. Hudson, while she might have seen his accomplice when she was shopping, would actually know where that man is now.  
It is just their luck that Markson was able to take them by suprise when he stormed into the house and attacked them and that Holmes had left early for Scotland Yard.  
  
Again Watson tries to loosen the ropes binding him to the chair, but Markson tied them tightly. Even though he is dangerous, he is not drunk enough to hurt Mrs. Hudson to persuade her.  
So instead he turns his attacks on Watson to get Mrs. Hudson to talk.  
  
"Tell me where he is!" he shouts again, turns around and swiftly punshes Watson in the jaw again, splitting his lip in yet another place.  
'Holmes must be back, soon,' Watson thinks and tries to shake his head clear.  
  
And just as he finishes the thought, the door to their flat flies open and a grim looking Holmes stands in the door.  
As he takes in the scene, his grim expression changes to one of fury and he snarls angrily, before tackling Markson to the ground.  
  
Watson blinks, as he can clearly hear low growls coming from his friend, when Mrs. Hudson steps to his side, all traces of pretended sobbing gone and wipes his chin with her handkerchief.  
"Finally! I anticipated Mr. Holmes' return 5 minutes ago," she grumbles under her breath as she gently wipes the blood away. "Apparantly he traded a few more insults with poor Inspector Lestrade than usual."  
  
Watson chuckles a bit, turning his head obediently to the side so she can access the other side of his face. "He was in a bit of a mood this morning, so it would not surprise me."  
  
A crash and the sound of breaking glass makes Mrs. Hudson spin around, her hands planted on her waist. "Mr. Holmes! Stop this racket!"  
Seconds later Holmes raises from behind the table, his hair and clothes dishevelled and he glares at her. "Overwhelming a criminal is no easy work, madam!"  
  
"Tutut, he is inebriated and he already spent all his energy on the poor Doctor - you could have easily pushed him over with your little finger.  
You really ought to find other ways to exhaust your bad moods than by destroying my house!"  
  
Watson leans back in his chair, silently watches the two bickering and while his hands are a little numb, he can still wait to be released.  
He really, really, **really** does not want to get in the crossfire.


	25. Highest Compliment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Watson feels insulted about writers publishing stories using Holmes' name, but Holmes does not truely care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Watson's Woes July Writing Prompts 2015 - Prompt: JWP #25 Picture Prompt: Fanworks Through the Ages. (Picture of a poem published in the Milwaulkee Ledger, 1895.)  
> (visible here http://ic.pics.livejournal.com/alaylith/19120656/5963/5963_original.jpg)

"This is insulting!" Watson exclaims and throws down the magazine in disgust. "Yet another fool trying to make money with your name!"  
  
Holmes chuckles, quite relaxed in his chair and takes the pipe from his mouth. "The first one was successfull, after all."  
He raises his hands in defence at the glare Watson sents his way, giving him a quick grin to show that he is not serious.  
  
"I do not understand how you can be so calm about these-" Watson points at the cheap low class magazine. "-false stories using your name, insulting your name."  
"Every intelligent man, or at the least a bit more intelligent than the common idiots-," Holmes starts to explain and leans back in his chair, closing his eyes. "- will know that only your stories are the true ones.  
Besides I do not feel insulted."  
  
"No?" Watson asks curious and Holmes opens his eyes to look at his friend with warm eyes.  
"No, because the most honourable man I know considers me worthy of his admiration and he is willing to tell that the whole world, ignoring any and every opposition.  
  
That is the highest compliment for me and nothing will ever be able to diminish it."  
Watson smiles gently and relaxes back in his chair. Holmes also closes his eyes again and silence falls once more.  
  
"Nervetheless, I am curious just how that writer is going to get us out of that warehouse with the flooded ground floor, the fire in the upper floors and the bombs inbetween," Holmes muses.  
"Good to know, if we ever came into such a situation."  
"Holmes!"


	26. Redemption

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The drug makes him so real.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Watson's Woes July Writing Prompts 2015 - Prompt: JWP #26 The One You Were Expecting: Everyone expects certain kinds of prompts in JWP. Today's prompt is exactly that: the one you personally had expected to see by now, but haven't. Whether that's a 221B challenge, a woeful injury, or a cracktastic combination - well, it's whatever you expected from JWP!  
> Choosen Prompt: Use at least three of these five words in your prompt: Kinship, Tears, Foundation, Bottle, Punishment

He puts the bottle down, after he filled the syringe and slowly pushes the cocaine into his blood.  
He relaxes back in his chair with a sigh and closes his eyes.  
  
In his mind he can see the disappointment on his friend's face, the man closest to his heart.  
His friendship is worth more than any actual kinship he has and it has been the foundation for a relationship he never thought possible.  
He can see him so clearly, see his eyes and smell his tobacco. He can even feel the other's hand on his arm and his voice is as clear as water.  
It is as if the man is truely there.  
  
Watson snaps his eyes open, but no one's there.  
He is alone.  
  
A silent whimper escapes his lips and he leans forward to bury his face in his hands, as tears trail down his cheeks.  
Holmes is dead, buried beneath the Reichenbach Falls and he will never come back.  
The drug is the only way for Watson to feel Holmes as if he were still alive, but it always pains him so much more afterwards.  
A punishment he deserves, as Watson will forever feel guilty about Holmes' death.  
  
After several more moments, when the tears are almost dried up, Watson sits back in his chair and looks at the bottle.  
For a moment he considers throwing it into the fire, but he never does and instead takes it up to prepare the next dose.  
  
There are two ways for Watson to be with Holmes again and for the moment he is only ready to use the drug.  
But he knows that it won't be long until he is going to take the second way.  
  
After so many months of misery and horrible soul-wrenching pain, Death can only be his redemption.


	27. The One sitting right next to You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Watson had several friends and he had Sherlock Holmes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Watson's Woes July Writing Prompts 2015 - Prompt: JWP #27 "Aside from yourself, I have none." Sherlock Holmes is supposed to be the anti-social one with Watson as his only friend. But who are Watson's friends outside of Sherlock Holmes?

John Watson has no friends currently and he considers all friends he had before Afghanistan as lost.  
His return was like a rebirth, sadly for the worst and in this new life, Watson has not found any friends yet.  
  
_Sherlock Holmes is a peculiar man, Watson thinks, as he sits in his chair and watches Holmes as he whirls through the room, throwing things around.  
It is a comfort to have another person around you, no matter how curious the man is and while they are no friends (yet), Watson enjoys Holmes' company._  
  
Watson laughs heartily as Barkson tells his story, both sitting together in their club and sharing a drink. Barkson is a humorous man and never fails to get Watson to laugh.  
They meet as often as possible and Watson thinks that Barkson will always have a story to tell and make him laugh.  
  
_"Holmes told Inspector Lestrade this and the Inspector looked like he saw a ghost!" Watson laughs and Barkson grins a bit, taking a thoughtful sip of his drink. "What happened after?"  
Watson shakes his head a bit, stroking his mustache a bit. "Nothing important, Holmes caught the criminal of course. Now what about you - what happened with the meeting last week?"  
Barkson waves the question away. "The meeting went well, nothing special. What was the motive of the criminal?"  
Watson hesitates for a moment, but then continues to tell his story, not once thinking about how Barkson did not laugh a single time this evening._  
  
Watson raises his glass to their host and with his other hand takes Mary's into his. The Jacksons are throwing the party this evening, just a dinner for their closest friends from the neighborhood.  
Mary is fairly glowing with happiness as she exchanges the latest gossip with Mrs. Lionell and Watson listens interestedly to Harrisson's stories about his time in Egypt.  
Because of his work Watson can not often join such gatherings of their friends and so it is always very enjoyable to have the chance to catch up with them. It is also time he can spend with his Mary.  
  
_"He would not have sent for me, if it is not important," Watson says to Mary as she helps him into his coat. Just a few minutes earlier an Irregular tracked them down at the Jacksons' and gave him an urgent message from Holmes.  
"I know, my dear, it is alright," Mary soothes gently and straightens Watson's collar. "Just be careful and invite Mr. Holmes for dinner some time soon." Watson chuckles a bit and gives Mary a kiss on her cheek.  
"Of course, love, now enjoy the evening and do not wait up for me. It could be late." Mary nods with a loving smile and Watson turns around to leave the house of their acquaintance, already wondering into what kind of trouble Holmes got now._  
  
Watson grins triumphly as he wins their round of billiard and Jones grimaces, shaking his head. "How can it be that you almost always manage to win?" Watson chuckles and prepares the table for another round.  
"Lady Luck favours me, that is all." "All ladies favour you," Jones grumbles good-naturedly and they continue to play a few rounds, until it is late and Watson gets ready to leave, as he has patients to see in the morning.  
"Same time next week?" Jones asks and Watson nods, before saying goodbye.  
  
_"Same time next week?" Jones asks and Watson smiles sadly. "No, Jones, I can't. I have to... visit an old friend of mine."_  
 _"Oh really? Who is it?" Is the next question, but Watson only shakes his head, says goodbye and leaves. Before he closes the door, he can hear how another man approaches Jones. "Don't you know, it is the anniversary of Holmes' death!"_  
 _"Who is Holmes?" is the last Watson can hear, but he ignores the painful twinge in his chest._  
 _There will be enough time for the pain when he visits the gravestone next week._  
  
John Watson met many people in his life, many he called friends and family. They came and went, all for different reasons and in a lot of ways they changed Watson. Sometimes for the better, sometimes for the worse.  
But one thing, the most important thing, always stayed the same. "Watson?" A gentle hand lays down on his shoulder and Watson looks up to see Sherlock Holmes standing beside the bench.  
"Holmes," Watson greets warmly and Holmes takes a seat on the bench as well, both looking to the ocean they can hear in the distance of Holmes' little cottage. "You looked thoughtful," he comments and Watson chuckles a bit.  
"Just thinking about old friends."  
"About what exactly?"  
Watson shakes his head a bit and comfortably leans back, his shoulder lightly touching Holmes' at his side. "Old friends are not so important like the one sitting right next to you."  
Holmes throws him a quick grin and both turn back to the ocean, their silence more comfortable than all the words any friends could ever share.


	28. Happy Anniversary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Watson forgot his wedding anniversary and now he is asking Holmes for advice. Surprisingly Holmes has a good idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Watson's Woes July Writing Prompts 2015 - Prompt: JWP #28 Bad, Bad, oh so Bad! Whether it's bad art, bad fiction, or just plain awful, let the badness inspire you in some way today. Take a bad song and make it better, or make it so bad it's good? It's up to you!

"Just what do I do, Holmes?" Watson asks with such despair that Holmes can not help but laugh.  
"Hooolmes," Watson pouts, even though he would never admit to it and Holmes tries to suppress his amusement.  
  
"I beg your forgiveness, my dear friend, I was not laughing about you. Well, maybe a bit," he amends with a chuckle and Watson rolls his eyes, giving his own chuckle.  
"But you do know that I am not the right person to ask for advide, Watson."  
  
Watson sighs and rubs his neck and Holmes can only shake his head amusedly. "Really, Watson - is it such a crime? Your wife is such an understanding woman, I am quite sure that she will forgive you."  
"But it is our wedding anniversary and I forgot it!" Watson exclaims, throwing his arms in the air.  
"And now it is to late to get anything! Of course, Mary would surely forgive me, it is just..." He sighs and rubs his eyes tiredly. "I **wanted** to make this day special.  
I **wanted** to get her a gift. I **wanted** to show her how much I love her."  
  
Holmes claps him on the shoulder, giving him a gentle shake. "Mary knows that you love her and she knows that you would move Heaven and Earth for her if possible.  
And she more than anyone else understands how tiring your work is - never forget you helping me with my cases - and as such forgetting the date is excuseable."  
Watson lets his shoulders drop, a sad and weary frown twisting his lips.  
  
Holmes looks at him for a moment thoughtfully, then gives a silent shout and runs into his bedroom.  
A few moments and bumps later he returns with a book in his hands, it's expensive dark red cover glints in the firelight.  
"What is that, Holmes?" Watson asks curiously and Holmes hands it over.  
  
_Stories of Love_ is the title engraved with beautiful golden letters and Watson stares at it with surprise. "Holmes, why do you have a book about love?"  
Holmes rolls his eyes and takes it back, going over to the mantle. "It was a gift from a female admirer; I used it as support for some of my boxes.  
I must admit I did leaf through it and let me tell you, it is the worst kind of drivel I have ever read. The poetry, grammatical mistakes and contents of the stories and poems are just bad."  
  
"And you think I should gift that Mary?" Watson asks, while cocking an eyebrow questiongly.  
Holmes does not answer, but instead takes his knife from the mantle and starts to cut out the pages, before throwing them into the fire.  
  
Watson, knowing that he will not get an answer, just watches bemusedly and patiently waits for Holmes to finish.  
After Holmes had removed all pages he goes over to Watson's old writing desk and takes out several sheet of paper.  
He folds them so that they have the same size as the book and then he binds them to the spine with a cord.  
  
He then presents it to Watson and it looks almost like a real book again; the beautiful cover with the title still intact and empty pages within.  
Watson looks at Holmes, whose expression has changed slightly and he looks almost bashful.  
  
"You can give that to Mary and tell her that you two have to write the stories for the book together. She loves your stories after all."  
Watson blinks at him for a long moment, but then a bright smile lightens up his face and the whole room.  
"Holmes! You are brilliant! And I do not mean any insult, but I never thought it possible for you to being this _romantic_."  
Holmes shudders theatrically with a put upon disgusted expression on his face. "Do not be ridiculous, Watson, I just made something good out of something very bad. And I do not just mean bad, but _awful_."  
They look at each other for a moment and then they both break into amused laughter.  
  
"Now do hurry, Watson, you have been hiding here long enough," Holmes says with twinkling eyes and gives Watson a little push towards the door.  
"Thank you, Holmes," Watson says with deep affection colouring his voice and takes his leave.  
  
As the door closes Watson can still hear Holmes' low parting words. "Happy anniversary, my dear Watson."


	29. Guardian Spirit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Watson is lost in a snowstorm, but apparently he has a guardian spirit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Watson's Woes July Writing Prompts 2015 - Prompt: JWP #29 Picture prompt: Snow Wolf  
> (visible here http://ic.pics.livejournal.com/alaylith/19120656/6173/6173_300.jpg)

Watson strugles through the harsh and cold winds, the hard snow painfully pelting against his frozen cheeks.  
The storm rages brutally and Watson can barely see anyhting besides some shadowed trees. He is tired and cold, but he knows that if he stops he will not get up again.  
So he continues to slowly make his way through the snow storm, hoping that he will either reach the manor or some other shelter soon.  
  
Suddenly a shudder runs down his back as if someone is watching him and he lifts his head to look around. Just a few steps to his right stands a tall, grey wolf, just looking at him calmly.  
Watson's first thought is, what a beautiful and majestic creature it is, but then apprehension fills him and he prepares himself for an attack.  
  
However the wolf continues to watch him for a few moments, then turns around and takes a few steps, before looking back to him over his shoulder.  
It may sound crazy, but Watson is sure that the wolf wants him to follow it. Maybe it is a tamed one from one of the villagers? Or it could be a breed between a wolf and a dog, raised by humans and it just looks like a pure wolf?  
  
Whatever the reason, Watson is totally lost in this forest and does not know where he goes - it does not make a difference if he walks on on his own or follows the animal.  
And if the wolf just wanted to eat him, it would already have done so.  
With this in mind Watson slowly follows the wolf, which always stays a few steps in front of him, but always within his sight and always looks back to make sure that Watson does not get lost.  
  
Watson does not know how long they walk, it could be minutes or it could be hours, until he sees a big dark shape beyond the wolf. After a few more meters he realizes that he looks upon the manor of their client.  
The manor where Holmes (hopefully) still is waiting for him.  
  
Watson lowers his head to look for the wolf, but he is suprised that the wolf has completely disappeared. Looking around further Watson belatedly realizes that there are no footprints other than his own and thinking back he has seen not a single print this whole time.  
He turns back to the forest, wonderment and gratitude growing within his heart, when there is a sudden shout of his name.  
  
"Watson!"  
Holmes is running towards him, Lord Digors and some of his employees right behind him and Watson feels himself relax. He tiredly falls to his knees, unable to feel the wet snow through his frozen clothes and closes his eyes.  
Just as the darkness takes him he can feel himself slump into Holmes' arms and he is sure that in the distance he can hear the howl of a wolf.


	30. Selfish Enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Holmes knows that he is going to die soon, but while he is not afraid, he is selfish.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Watson's Woes July Writing Prompts 2015 - Prompt: JWP #30 Words of Warning. "You are going to die tonight." Use this however it inspires you.

_You are going to die tonight_  
  
This thought runs through Holmes' head, as the sun rises and the first light shines through the window at his back, illuminating the room. It is the same thought he had every morning for the last couple of days. He knows that he is going to die, be it today or tomorrow or the day after tomorrow - as long as Moriarty or Moran are alive, every day could be his last.  
  
Holmes is not afraid to die, but he has to admit that he is quite selfish about it. If he is going to die ( _today, tomorrow, ..._ ) then it is his wish to spend as much time with his dear Watson. While it is true that part of the reason why he asked Watson to come along was to secure his safety, he mostly just wanted Watson with him for his final days. Moriarty is a gentleman and as long as Watson does not pose any danger (and Holmes had made sure that Watson could never be seen as one) Moriarty will not harm him. Of course Holmes still takes any and all precautions to not risk Watson's life, but in the end this whole trip is just his way of spending as much time as possible ( _never enough_ ) with his closest ( _and onl_ y) friend.  
  
So Holmes wakes early before the sun rises and just sits at the window to observe Watson sleep in the other bed. He is selfish enough to want to spend his last days with Watson ( _alone_ ), but not selfish enough to harm Watson's health by keeping him awake the whole night. He just sits there, counts Watson's breathes and memorizes every little detail about his friend to take the most accurate memory of Watson with him to his death.  
  
 _You are going to die tonight_  
  
That may be, but Holmes will be happy - because he knows that Watson will be there. That it will not be him who looses Watson, but the other way around.  
And he is selfish enough to be glad about it.


	31. Grand Show

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Holmes is a magician and he performs a grand show.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Watson's Woes July Writing Prompts 2015 - Prompt: JWP #31 Putting on a Show. Canon is full of colourful characters, and we all know Holmes loves an audience for his deductions. Whether it's a grand gesture, breaking the fourth wall, or just the conclusion of a case in front of a crowd, make an audience part of today's entry.

It is a grand show, Holmes muses as he rattles of his deductions to his awed audience. He could tell their suspect came from the moon and for a moment, it's length depending on the general intelligence of the group, _they would believe him_.  
It is not about his methods, it is not about his intellect or his work - the people want to be entertained and his work is a magic show for them. They do not understand his tricks, but that is the thing with magic tricks - you do not want to understand them.  
Understanding them would mean the loss of the magic and all that is left would be silly tricks anyone could do if you just _tried_.  
  
_You see, but you do not observe._  
  
Holmes can see this, he knows his audience well and so he perfoms his perfect little magic show for them, shows them the truth while hiding more truths in his sleeves and pulls out a criminal out of his hat like a rabbit.  
In the end he bows down to their applause and leaves the stage. Then from the shadows of the curtains he watches how others try to take the spotlight, amused at their gaucheness and how there are aces falling out of their pockets as they stumble over their shoe laces.  
  
It does not matter what these people think of him, how they applaud him in his presence and then whisper behind his back about his weird behaviour.  
They call him brilliant and then they call him mad; they call him their saviour and then they call him their doom. They pay him for his tricks and then pay another to stop him from perfoming them.  
He knows and sees it all, this grand show of life - the roles all these people play and their well-trained dialogues and he can see beyond the fallen curtains and sees how they take of the costumes and make-up, their true faces empty as their minds.  
  
But Holmes does not care about it at all, because all that matters to him is the time when he and his boswell sit in their living room without any audience, without anyone watching and his boswell listens to him talk about his work. Listens to him talking about all his little deductions, about every step he had to take and all the tedious work and study he had to invest to make the magic real.  
And his silent adoration is worth more than all the applause of the greatest audience in the world.


End file.
